


True Lies My Lover Told Me

by DeMarcos



Series: The Shassi Files [4]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeMarcos/pseuds/DeMarcos
Summary: Shawn finally tells Lassiter the truth about not being a psychic and it goes about as well as he thought it would. Which is to say not at all.(Originally posted in 2007)





	True Lies My Lover Told Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is an imported and updated work that was written over a decade ago. Considering a part of the relationship plot hinges on certain mentalities from ten years ago, I kept it the way it was, versus rewriting the whole damn thing to reflect our more enlightened sensibilities.

** Santa Barbara ** ** – Present **

 

Shawn steepled his hands under his chin, appearing for all the world to be listening intently to the man in seated in front of him. He nodded his head at the appropriate times, occasionally pretending to scribble something in the pad of paper he’d brought with him, under the guise of taking notes.

In all actuality, he was doodling Gus as Magic Head, his thoughts revolving around his dinner plans with a certain special someone. The smile that spread across his face broke the façade of a deeply concerned psychic. 

"Do you think this is _funny_? I go against my better judgment and hire a psychic, and you _laugh_ at me _?_ " 

Shawn dropped the pencil and waved his hands in the air. "Forgive me. Sometimes the spirits are feeling jocular and I heard one whisper something quite witty." Shawn sized up the man quickly, trying to get their meeting back on track.

He had come into the Psych office, saying that money kept disappearing from the store he managed, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find a culprit. He had gone over every frame of security footage multiple times and could find no one pocketing cash from the tills. He refused to involve the police, however, because he was afraid news of the thefts would drive off business. Hiring a psychic had been his last resort.

Gus was off on a delivery, and when Shawn had texted to remind him about the meeting with their new client, he’d texted back quickly, promising he would be in as soon as possible to help out. Shawn admired his dedication, if only for a brief moment, before remembering that Gus had blown off the appointment, in lieu of making a profitable drop at an office with the pretty secretary and a cappuccino machine.

Hence the Magic Head doodle.

Shawn had already had a good idea how the money was disappearing, but knew he’d have to make a trip to the store and meet with the employees to confirm his suspicions before he fingered the culprits. 

Apropos of nothing, he shot to his feet, causing the client to flinch in his chair. Placing his fingers to his temples in his signature move, Shawn closed his eyes. "I can see a vague outline of your thief..." Making a noise somewhere between a dying giraffe and a yak during mating season, he wildly jerked his body back, as if he’d been punched. "Curses! The spirits won't let me get a clear view!" Opening his eyes, he grinned maniacally down at the startled man, who seemed to be suddenly afraid for his life.

"Since the spirits aren’t gonna be any help... I guess I’ll just have to meet with your staff."

 

* * *

****

Pulling into the parking lot of the electronics store, Shawn set the kickstand on his bike down and cut the engine off. Mr. Clopp, the store manager, had already exited his car and was waiting impatiently on the sidewalk for him. Shawn unzipped his leather jacket and walked up to him calmly, not wanting to spook the man any more than he already had.

"Before we go in, Mr. Spencer, could you _please_ be a little discreet? I don't want my customers getting a whiff of..." He pointed a finger between the two of them. "What's going on here."

Shawn nodded his head in mock understanding, as he’d never been too good with discreet, but it seemed to appease Mr. Clopp, who turned to enter the store, Shawn trailing behind him. 

The place was moderately busy, a few customers on the floor, the staff milling around to answer any questions they had. Two cashiers stood behind the counters ringing up sales, where Mr. Clopp led him to, keeping his eye on the cash register like a hawk. A woman with bright red hair and freckles stood next to the registers, leaning against the counter as she filled out some paperwork, neither she nor the two other cashiers perturbed with the presence of their unannounced guest.

Shawn turned his gaze toward the wall of big screen TV's, different makes and models all broadcasting the same benign store advertisements, casting a bright hue on the sales floor. Pursing his lips in contemplation, nodded his head approvingly at the selection. He then walked from the registers and over to one of the larger sets, ignoring the calls of Mr. Clopp. Coming to a stop in front of the largest model, he placed both hands on the screen.

Shawn put on his best creepy voice, pitched like that of a small child and spoke loudly to the whole store. "They're heeeeere!"

Several customers swiveled their heads around to stare at him in shock for his public behavior, but said nothing. Mr. Clopp was on him in the blink of an eye, hissing at him to lower his voice and stop disturbing the customers. 

Shawn flat out ignored him, and now that he had everyone's attention, he moved to the center of the sales floor, motioning for the employees that they should join him. They were all men, some just barely out of their teens, and they gathered around him, not even trying to disguise their mirth at the situation.

Satisfied with their arrangement, Shawn went to each one in turn, waving his hands a few inches from their faces. Their eyes widened in confusion, looking to their boss for an explanation. Mr. Clopp just shrugged wordlessly at the charade. 

Shawn began making circles around them, checking them up and down, using his hands like metal detecting wands. At one point, he even made beeping noises, just to mess with their heads. Finally, Shawn dropped his hands to his sides in defeat. "Nope, not them. They're good." 

Clopp nodded at this, relieved that the show was over, though somewhat put out that the thief still hadn’t been identified. Shawn made his way back toward the manager, then stopped mid-stride. He held up his hand once more, aiming it toward the redhead. He resumed his pace, and with each step, he beeped, increasing steadily as he approached her.

She stared at him like he was a freshly released mental patient, but began shifting nervously on her feet.

Stopping in front of her, Shawn lowered his hand, tsking softly. "It must _really_ get to you."

"What must get to me?" She asked with a glare, defensively crossing her arms over her chest. 

Shawn mirrored her posture, even the slight tilt of her hips, and began speaking in a high pitched voice. "I work hard _every_ day, doing _all_ the paperwork and the banking because the manager thinks it’s a _woman’s_ job. Yet he _still_ refuses to give me a raise. I bat my eyes and beg nicely, but he says there's no room in the budget for a pay increase. But I found out that he's been skimming off the company for months! And if he can do it and get away with it, then so can I. That'll show that sexist prick." 

By the end of his diatribe, Shawn had a hand on his hip, flipping his pretend hair around with the other.

The girl and Mr. Clopp were both staring at him with incredulous expressions on their faces. The other employees and the customers were wearing similar looks, and all at once, they began whispering to one another. 

Grinning from ear to ear, Shawn turned back to Clopp, who had gone beet red in anger. "You find out that someone is stealing from your business and you _don't_ want the cops called? Kinda screams that you were doing some stealing of your own and didn't want the police to catch it when they looked through the books. Plus, you being nervous about having me here was a dead giveaway."

He spun on his heel, eyes landing on the redhead.

"As for you, you've been working here longer than anyone. You know this place inside and out. When Clopp refused to show his appreciation monetarily, the discrepancies in the store reports that you've been ignoring for ages, you used the same methods he was to line your own pockets. It also helps that you know where all the blind spots are in the surveillance system, to sneak the money out unseen. You're _both_ liars. Capital L, capital I, capital A, capital R. _Period_!" Shawn clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly as he glanced between the both of them.

There was a short pause and then simultaneously, they began screaming profanities at each other.

Shawn smiled at a job well done and sauntered out of the store, whistling a jaunty tune as he walked toward his motorcycle. Good thing he’d asked Clopp pay him up front for his services, fairly certain he wouldn’t have seen a dime otherwise.

He made a quick mental note to give the police station a call, to report the day's events and have them send a unit out, for theft, embezzling, and most likely assault, given how the manager and the redhead had been at each other’s throats.

Shawn hopped back onto his bike, pushing the peg back and kickstarting it to life. He decided to treat himself to a pineapple smoothie for a job well done.

 

* * *

****

"How did you know that the girl was the one stealing from the store?"

Shawn was regaling Gus with the story and of course he couldn't just _listen_ in awe at his mental prowess. He had to nitpick Shawn's every notion.

"Dude, her uniform shirt was five shades lighter than the rest of the employees there. Obviously, she's been working there forever and doesn't use color protection detergent, but couldn’t afford to pay out for new shirts. _And_ , she was adding up the shift totals in her head. I saw it when I walked in. You work behind a register long enough, you learn to do it in your sleep. Low pay, no appreciation, and stuck working with a bunch of immature high school guys as the only woman? Hell, I’d want to stick it to the man, too.”

Gus made a noise and turned his chair to face his laptop, fingers clicking away at the mouse. "Just shows you people won’t tolerate being unappreciated forever. But they should have known that eventually, lying and sneaking around _will_ come back to bite you in the ass."

Plopping down in the chair behind his desk, Shawn turned to face Gus, eyeing the other man’s posture. "What's that supposed to mean? And you need to call or fold, before you lose your shirt."

Fingers that had been clacking away on the keyboard suddenly stopped. Gus cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing. "You need to stop doing that, Shawn! I know how to play poker!”

“Obviously not, with _that_ losing streak…”

“Shush!” Groaning loudly when he lost the hand, Gus clicked out of the game angrily and slumped down in his chair. He glared angrily across the room at Shawn, who simply grinned back at him smugly.

“And I meant that Clopp had been skimming off the top for months, certain he was gonna get away with it. But when someone else discovered what he was doing, he got scared. More so when more money started disappearing. He tried to keep the theft under wraps, but ended up painting himself into a corner. If he’d been a little less greedy, he never would have been caught. But in the end, he brought it upon himself, and he deserves whatever he gets.”

Shawn pondered that for a while, entertaining himself by breaking his personal record in trashcan basketball. Perhaps if Clopp had been more generous with his employees, and been a little less of a sexist ass, him cooking the books would have gone unnoticed for who knows how long. But he’d gotten cocky, too sure of the fact that he’d never get caught, and that had proved to be his undoing.

Mid-toss, something hit Shawn with the force of a Mack truck. His shot was too high and it completely missed the basket. Gus whipped his head up, eyes growing wide.

He pointed to the crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor and stammered. "Did you-?" Realization that Shawn had _actually_ missed a basket washed over him, and Gus began to do a victory jig in his chair. When he noticed the thousand yard stare on his friend's face, however, he stopped, eyebrows creased in concern. "Dude, are you okay?"

When Shawn didn’t answer, he knew something was seriously wrong.

"Okay, Shawn, you’re starting to scare me." Gus got to his feet and walked around his desk, moving to stand over his friend. He waved his hand in front Shawn’s face.

Shawn then bolted upright, nearly giving Gus a heart attack.

"Dammit,” he cried, “why do you always have to be right?" He began pacing around the office erratically, radiating nervous energy. "I need to think... Gah! How could I be so _stupid_?" 

Gus watched him pace in silent confusion, waiting for him to explain what in the hell was going on with him.

"Oh, man! You are _so_ right. I have to make a plan. I have to break the news gently..."

Turning to his best friend in the whole wide world, Shawn gazed into Gus’ eyes and with all the seriousness he could muster, said something Gus never would have expected to come out of his mouth.

"I have to tell Lassie I'm not a psychic."

 

* * *

****

The buzz of his cell phone in his pocket made Carlton jump lightly in surprise. He quickly scanned the bullpen to see if anyone had seen him react like a little girl at the unexpected sensation. Satisfied that his folly had gone unnoticed, he slipped the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Hiding a smile, Lassiter opened the message from Shawn, but instead of the sweet nothings his lover usually sent throughout the day, it was a simple, two line text.

_ We need to talk. _

_ See you when you get home. _

_ H's & K's _

The smile abruptly fell from his face, his stomach sinking. Carlton stared down at the text for a moment before snapping the phone shut with a loud _click_. His mind began racing, go over anything and everything he could have done over the past few days that might have warranted Shawn's message. 

They hadn't argued recently, save for the usual morning bickering about being out of coffee and clothes being left on the floor, but nothing catastrophic. He’d not been burying himself in his work like he had used to, leaving the precinct at a decent hour every night when he could manage, so it couldn't be anything related to that.

Carlton must have had a pensive expression on his face, because O'Hara walked up to his desk, waving her hand to get his attention, he startled again, not registering her presence beside him.

He glared up at her menacingly. "What could you _possibly_ need right now?" It came out a bit harsher than he intended and he made a quiet noise of apology to O'Hara when she seemed hurt by his tone.

Chalking the moment up to a case of the grumps, Juliet visibly relaxed, handing him a file folder with a wavering smile. "Shawn called the tip line... something about a manager and employee embezzling money from an electronics store. We sent a black and white over to look into it, and they ended up breaking up a fight between the two suspects. They're down in lock up now, waiting to be processed." 

Carlton took the folder, careful not to make it seem like he was snatching it from her, and perused through it, hoping against hope that the text had been in some related to this tip of his.

Dispatch had logged the tip line call about thirty minutes before Shawn had sent the text and he desperately tried to think what possibly could have happened in that brief window of time to explain the cryptic message, but he couldn’t come up with anything. 

He looked down at his watch. Still more than half a day before he could clock out, assuming no big cases landed on their desks. Sighing, Lassiter stood up, mentally girding himself to deal with the perps Shawn had collared. Climbing to his feet, he walked out from behind the desk and made his way down to the interrogation rooms, Jules in tow.

Halfway to the interrogation room, he felt O'Hara's hand on his shoulders, smoothing down any creases in his suit jacket and clearing away any stray lint. It was times like this, when she could sense that he needed a helping hand that he thanked the powers that be -namely, Chief Vick- for assigning Jules to be his partner.

She had absolutely forgiven him for not telling her about his relationship with Shawn and remembered the little things that were important to him, like his obsession for confronting suspects with a completely impeccable business approach. Aside from Shawn, O'Hara was one of the best things that had happened in his life. 

Lassiter suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, for not showing her more just how much he appreciated her. He’d have to do something nice, like get her flowers or finagle a way to let her have a half day off. He idly wondered when her birthday was, maybe he could treat her to lunch if it was coming up. He was sure he’d heard her mention it before, but he generally didn’t concern himself with such things. He then wondered if that that made him a bad person, because he didn’t know much about his partner’s life, outside of the precinct.

Coming to a stop outside the heavy metal door, O’Hara stepped in front of him, she straightened his jacket lapels, fingers wrapping around his tie to tightened the knot. Lassiter shoved aside his thoughts, putting on his game face, focusing his mind on the task at hand.

"Don't worry, Lassiter,” she said softly, nodding in approval at his appearance, “whatever is going on with Shawn, I’m sure it will all be just fine."

Lassiter whipped his head down to goggle at her so quickly he nearly broke his neck.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I've been in enough relationships to recognize that expression you had on your face earlier." He’d been holding his phone with a white-knuckle death grip when she’d approached his desk, and the way he’d taken the jacket of Shawn’s case from her with forced ease, only to devour every scrap of information as if it held some clue, it screamed to her that something had happened between them. 

She knew damn well Lassiter held a high opinion of her skills, if not a high opinion of herself as a person, but sometimes, it surprised her when she pointed out things he hadn’t thought she’d been paying attention to. The little victories were sweet, though, and she wouldn’t give them up for the world, especially if it meant she could throw him for a loop every now and again. Jules dropped her hands to her side and returned his gaze with a calm, collected one. "Now c’mon, let's get in there and bust some bad guys."

“Detective O’Hara, I suspect you’re a treasure.” He said, still a little bewildered by how easily she saw through him.

Beaming from ear to ear, O'Hara opened the door to the interrogation room, and in an instant, their expressions changed, morphing into the façade of angry, no nonsense cops, ready to bust skulls if need be.

 

* * *

****

Shawn paced around the apartment, anxious waves flowing off him like heat from scorched pavement. He had decided against trying to sugarcoat the evening, wining and dining Carlton before oh so delicately dropping the bomb on him, so instead of a pleasant meal together, he had purchased a _lot_ of beer and hid all of Carlton's spare guns. It had taken him a fair amount of time, too, because they were stashed all over the place, even secret hidey holes where a normal, well-balanced person wouldn’t ever think to hid a gun, like the trash can. Shawn loved Carlton, he truly did, but _damn_.

His nervous thoughts were distracting him and he sat down at the kitchen table, practicing for the umpteenth time what he was going to say. He knew he’d screwed up when he sent Carlton that text, but he’d realized it too late to do anything about it. Shawn knew how awful it was to tell someone you were dating that you needed to talk. The phrase had become so loaded, had taken on such a life of its own that people were better off just saying _you need a lawyer_ and not pussyfoot around the issue. 

His ex-wife had started off the drawn out divorce process with those four words –eight, actually, as she’d said _we need to talk_ and _you need a lawyer_ , a double smack down- and he knew Carlton had most likely been a wreck the entire day, imagining all sorts of bad scenarios. The guilt just kept piling on and Shawn buried his face in his hands, a frustrated groan escaping his throat.

He had no real basis on which to judge how Carlton would react. The only fight they’d every really had was after Carlton had asked him to move in, but after just being ignored for a single day, he’d apologized and they’d worked out their problems. Of course, he’d been accused of murder right afterward, because of the method he’d chosen to apologize, but that was beside the point.

_ This _ , telling him the truth, was on a whole other level and Shawn was actually afraid of the rift it could potentially cause between him. Shawn had always tried to be honest with his lover when he could, but for him to reveal the truth about his abilities might cause Carlton to reevaluate their entire relationship. He didn’t want to risk losing Carlton, but Gus had been right, if he didn’t clear the air now, somehow, someway, the truth would come back to bite him in the ass. He was doing the right thing, he knew it, but dammit, why did the right thing feel so wrong?

When trying to wish his problems away didn’t work, nor did trying to push his fingers into his eyeballs to end his misery now, Shawn sighed, scrubbing at his face and glancing the beer bottles on the table. When Lassiter had texted to say he would be home soon, Shawn had set them out, hoping they would serve as a peace offering.

The sound of Lassiter’s keys jingling as they turned the doorknob caused Shawn to jump like a frightened horror movie bimbo, and he barely managed not to scream in fright. He then recovered by leaning back nonchalantly in his chair, smiling up at Carlton when he entered the apartment. 

The smile was returned, somewhat dimmed by the specter of what was coming, but at least it was genuine. That gave Shawn some hope. Carlton set his keys on the stand by the door and Shawn spied the locket his father had given them for their anniversary dangling on the key ring. A renewed sense of guilt through Shawn so violently, he seriously began regretting his decision to spill the beans to Carlton. He sat unnaturally still as Lassiter took of his suit jacket and unhooked his figure-eight holster, hanging them up in the closet.

Shawn spied the detective's hands shaking slightly as he put his jacket on a coat hanger, betraying just how nervous about the whole situation, but it was too late to abort. He was just going to have to go through with it.

Once he had put everything away, Carlton joined his lover at the kitchen table. At the sight of the beers on the table, he sighed heavily. This was going to be _long_ night. "So...” He asked tentatively, opening a beer to take a long pull from the bottle. Swallowing, he set the bottle down and fixed his gaze on Shawn. “What's happening?"

Mirroring his actions, Shawn opened his bottle and drank from it. For a drawn out moment, the only sound in the apartment was that of glass scraping on the table top. Then, after taking a deep breath, preparing himself for the fallout, Shawn spoke.

"Okay. I have to tell you something and you might not... you _definitely_ won’t like it, but before I do, you need to know that I _love_ you. I love you and I hope nothing will ever change how you feel about me, not even this." Shawn saw something like fear flash through Carlton's eyes and he realized it sounded like he was getting ready to confess to infidelity. “I _didn’t_ cheat on you.” He added quickly, almost slurring his words with how fast he forced them out. “I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but I’d never do anything _that_ stupid…”

A massive weight lifted off his shoulders, knowing Shawn hadn’t strayed, but it only increased his worry, as that was the absolute worst thing he’d imagined their conversation could be about. If it wasn’t that, what else was there? Nodding sharply, Lassiter motioned for Shawn to continue, before he got off track. 

Shawn hung his head for a second, trying to find the strength somewhere inside of him before he glanced back up, staring deeply into Carlton’s bright blue eyes.

"I'm not a psychic."

Carlton blinked. "Excuse me?"

Shawn bit his lower lip and tried again. "I. Am Not. A. Psychic. Never have been. And unless I get into a car accident and spend six years in a coma, I doubt I ever will be. And I wanted to tell you because... I didn't want you to find out about it from anyone else. I thought it was best you heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. Though right now, I feel more like a horse’s _ass_..."

Silence filled the apartment, the tension thickening. Shawn began to _really_ fear how Carlton would react. Or if he ever would. He hadn't spoken a single word and that was a bad sign. He’d seen brief glimpses of just how scary Carlton could get when presented with things that took him out of his comfort zone. Thank God Shawn didn't know him around the time he and his wife had first separated, thinking he must have been ten times worse dealing with that stress.

Suddenly, the hush of the room was broken by the crash of shattering glass. 

Shawn recoiled violently as Carlton hurled his beer into the air, sending the bottle careening into the adjacent wall, shards of glass flying in every direction. Alcohol foamed as it ran down the walls, stray flecks of liquid hitting Shawn’s face, making his eyes to burn. He rubbed at them frantically, cursing at the sting. 

Carlton bolted out of his chair and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him with such force the walls shook.

Shawn sat in stunned silence, staring at the empty space where Carlton had been, not quite sure what to do now. Then, quietly, he stood up, walked over to the sink and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the cupboard.

Crouching down, he carefully cleaning up the shattered glass and beer, wiping the residue off his face with his free hand, all the while telling himself it was just the beer causing his eyes to water.

 

* * *

****

The sound of someone pounding at the front door made Gus glance away from the TV screen. Beside him, Jules craned her head around, her eyes narrowed. "Who in the hell would knock _that_ loud _this_ late?" She asked, recognizing the sort of knock as one officers used when responding to a call, but the person hadn’t identified themselves as the police. Perhaps it was a drunk, mistakenly confusing Gus’ apartment for their own.

Gus stood up, carefully making his way over to the door. He closed one eye to peer through the peephole. When he saw who it was, he swallowed thickly, tossing a glare over his shoulder at Juliet before he opened the door.

All Jules saw was a hand shoot out from behind the door when it opened, viciously grabbing the front of Gus' shirt to pull him out into the hallway. Gus yelped in surprise, the door closing with an earsplitting slam. Juliet leapt up from the couch, racing over to the door in a panic. She wrenched it open, but stopped short when she saw her partner holding her boyfriend up against the wall, the tight grip on Gus' shirt causing Lassiter's knuckles to turn white.

"It’s okay, O’Hara, just go back inside and close the door. I will only be taking up a few moments of Mr. Guster's time." Carlton nodded his head toward the apartment, motioning for her to do as he bade. "Go on."

Juliet was dumbfounded by the outrageous display of force, but deep down, she trusted Lassiter implicitly, knowing he would never intentionally hurt an innocent person, no matter how intimidating he made himself out to be. Against her better judgment, she nodded, slowly returning to the interior of Gus' apartment. As soon as the door clicked behind her, however, she stood up on her tiptoes to watch them through the peephole, ready to run back to Gus’ defense if need be.

With O'Hara gone, Carlton turned his head back to Guster. He released his grip on the man and took a step back, wanting only to scare him into telling the truth, nothing more. He’d worked with the man long enough to know how he folded under duress. "How has he been doing it?" He hissed quietly, just knowing O’Hara was on the other side of the door, listening in on their conversation, as he would be, if their situations were reversed.

Straightening up, Gus stared wide eyed at the unhinged detective, a crease furrowing his brow. "You know, when you're threatening someone for answers, it helps to let them know what the _hell_ you’re talking about." 

Carlton gritted his teeth and tried again. "How has Shawn been snowing the Santa Barbara Police Department by parading around as a _psychic_?" He used his hands to make air quotes.

Gus' eyes widened. "Oh, _that_ …"

Carlton made a sarcastic noise. "Yeah, _that_. How has he been doing it? How long have you been in on it?” 

"Since the beginning, all right! He came to me after you and Lucinda brought him in after he called in all those tips.” He guessed Shawn must have gone through with his plan to tell Lassiter, and it was more than obvious he hadn’t taken the news well. “I told him it was a bad idea to tell you, but does he listen to me? _No_. He has to be all like _it's the right thing to do, Gus_ and _if I don't tell him now, what if he finds out from someone else_. I used to think you two had a positive effect on one another, but now I’m not so sure... I think now that instead of dumb ideas that involve the Mexican border patrol, it's dumb ideas that involve possibly deranged detectives!"

Carlton had the good decency to appear ashamed of himself as Guster chastised him. He’d had his suspicions of Shawn in the beginning and after they began dating, he began to take everything Shawn did with a grain of salt. Eventually, it was no longer just a grain, a fact he had come to accept without any qualms and turned a blind eye to, for a number of reasons. But hearing it directly from the source... 

"Look,” Gus said, his voice quiet, “I know Shawn loves you. I can tell even when you guys aren't around each other. And the reason why he kept putting off telling you was because he was afraid _this_ is how you would react. He figured you had all this time together, that your relationship would be strong enough that this would just be something you’d come to terms with. But _damn_ …" Gus brushed off his shirt, watching Carlton out of the corner of his eye.

Guilt flooded Lassiter's face, and he glanced over at Gus, the anger quickly seeping out of him.

"But how...?"

Sizing up the detective, Gus sighed once more. "Shawn's dad was a cop and he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. So he began to train Shawn. When I first met him, he could walk into a classroom for thirty seconds, walk back out and tell you what everyone was wearing that day. Henry taught him how to observe _everything_ , even the smallest detail."

Carlton arched a brow. "Total recall? Like Rainman?"

Gus shook his head. "Not quite to that extent, but of the say... three or so percent of the population that can do what he can, Shawn's definitely ranked in the top twenty, even as a kid. But Henry never stopped drilling him, trying to make him into the best, but it was hard for Shawn, trying to live up to what Henry wanted of him. So, when he turned eighteen, Shawn skipped town. And the _only_ reason his father didn't tell Vick the truth about what Shawn could do was because he was testing, to see if he could clean up his own mess. But he got stuck in the lie, too. He either had to play ball with you guys or go to jail along with Shawn."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Gus and Carlton just stared at each other for a few moments. Lassiter then scrubbed his face with his hands. "Oh, man..." He groaned in frustration. There was so much Shawn had never told him about his relationship with his father, and now he knew why. He’d really stepped in it this time, but he didn’t know what he could do to make it right.

Moving around the detective to his front door, Gus waved a finger at him. "Now you see why he waited so long to tell you..." 

Carlton didn't respond, he simply spun on his heel and marched down the hallway to the elevators. 

Gus shook his head in dismay as he opened his door. It connected with something hard and he heard Jules cry out in pain. Her hand appeared on the door, pulling it open. She stood there, clutching at her head and the one he could see spoke volumes, telling Gus that he was in serious trouble.

“So... Shawn’s not a psychic, huh?”

“Oh, heh... about that...”

 

* * *

****

Carlton raced home to find Shawn and apologize, navigating the streets with more speed than he was normally comfortable with, but he _had_ to talk to Shawn. When he pulled up to their apartment, however, he saw that the ever present motorcycle missing and knew Shawn had left. He banged his head on the steering wheel, thinking hard of where he might have gone. He couldn't have gone to Guster's, they would have crossed each other at some point. He didn't frequent the bars like he used to, so any one of his old haunts was unlikely.

That left only one other place and Carlton prayed with all his might that he hadn't gone there. He had gotten to know Henry Spencer very well, both before and after they told him about their relationship, and he liked to think they were on good terms with one another. But he knew that if Shawn had gone to his house, Henry would play the overprotective father after what he’d done and would most likely forbid him from talking to his son. He could always wait until Shawn came to him, but if he waited that long, there would be no salvaging their relationship. If he wanted to keep Shawn, he'd have to make the first move.  


Left with no other choice, he bit the bullet and put the car in drive.

The gleam of the handle bars in the moonlight confirmed Carlton's fears as to his lovers' whereabouts as he did a slow drive by, wanting to confirm Shawn was there before he did anything else. Steeling his resolve, Carlton pulled his Crown Vic into the driveway behind Shawn's motorcycle. He could vaguely see a silhouette sitting on the front porch, but it was too bulky to be Shawn. Exiting the car, he slowly made his way up the walk, placed one foot on the step leading up to the porch and regarded the figure solemnly.

"Henry."

"Carlton."

He only spoke one word, but it was laced with enough to fury to send a shiver down his spine. He held his ground against the tone, determined to speak with Shawn. "Can I see him?" 

The older man released a heavy sigh. "That depends. Are you finished throwing shit around?"

Carlton grimaced at that. He had momentarily forgotten about his earlier reaction to Shawn’s confession, how his bottle had missed Shawn by mere inches. He hadn't intended to hit Shawn, not in the slightest, but in his anger, his aim hadn’t exactly been spectacular. Despite the knowledge of how royally he’d screwed up, Lassiter bravely walked up the rest of the stairs and stopped.

"I've had some time to think and I just want to apologize." 

When Henry didn't respond, Carlton took it as silent permission and moved towards the screen door. He heard a chair scrape across wood, and faster than he ever would have thought the older man could move, Henry was behind him, hand tightening on his shoulder like a vice. He could feel Henry's breath on his neck and real terror shot through the detective.

"I haven't seen Shawn cry about anything in _years..._ You send my son here again in tears and no one will _ever_ find your body. I've lived a long life and I have no problem whatsoever doing time for your murder. Assuming they ever catch me... _do you understand_?"

The hand dug into the muscles of his shoulder and it was all Carlton could do to nod through the pain. Suddenly, the hand was gone, Henry seated in his chair once more. All the misgivings Carlton had about Henry after what Gus had told him earlier went out the window and he made a mental note to never underestimate the retired officer. The Spencers may have had their problems but it was clear to him now, more than ever, that Henry truly loved his son.

He opened the screen door and walked through the kitchen into the living room. Shawn was sitting on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to his chest like a shield. The television cast a pale white light across his features and Carlton could clearly see the anguish on his face. 

Walking up behind him, Lassiter gently placed his hands on Shawn's shoulder. Flinching at the touch, he wrenched his head around, arms up as if to defend himself.

When he saw Carlton behind him, Shawn deflated, ducking out from under the other man's grip and jumped up to stare at him. "What are you doing here?"

The accusing tone in Shawn's voice cut through Carlton like a blade to the heart. Edging around the couch, he approached Shawn carefully, fully aware of how the he could channel a nervous park squirrel when necessary. Carlton reached out to him, silently asking to take his hand when he saw three band-aids covering his fingertips, little dots of pooled blood showing through the material. He lowered his hand, the sight making him feel like the scum of the earth.

“I am,” he started, voice trembling, "a complete and utter asshole. You have to know I would _never_ intentionally hurt you, but I... over reacted and I'm _sorry_." 

Carlton then did something he hadn’t done since he proposed to his wife. He dropped down to his knees in front of Shawn, absolutely ashamed at what he’d done to the person he claimed to love. 

"You made a mistake but I made an even bigger one by not acting maturely about it. But I am here now, _begging_ you to forgive me and come home, so we can talk about this."

Shawn regarded Carlton for a moment. In his heart of hearts, he knew that while the detective had his faults, he was a good, upstanding man. He’d never struck anyone in anger, not even resisting perps, which was almost hard to believe, given his temperament, but Carlton lived by the letter of the law. Hell, he didn’t even like to speed while driving. Despite every PSA warning people about the dangers of abusive relationships, Shawn _knew_ that wasn’t Carlton. 

In a moment of weakness and vulnerability, he’d lashed out inappropriately, but Shawn could see how much he regretted it. If there was one thing he was good at, it was spotting a liar, and Carlton was not lying. He hadn’t intended to hurt him and he was truly remorseful for his actions.

Even still, he didn’t want to just blindly throw himself back into Lassie’s arms. “I thought... I thought that with the whole super psychic cop aspect gone, you wouldn't... and all the lies. I was afraid-”

"I didn't fall for you because you were a pain in the ass psychic. I fell because you are a human hurricane of life and passion and laughter. Because you're everything I'm not. Yes, I don’t like that you lied, but.. that doesn’t change how I feel about you." 

Carlton sighed and shifted on his knees, feeling his age more than ever. “I'm so sorry, Shawn. Please don't let this be the reason you leave me. I was only angry because... I don't know what to do now. I don’t want to ruin this thing we have going, but I can't let you keep working on cases. But I also know we can't afford to stop you from working with us... I mean, deep down, I always knew you weren't really a psychic, but as long as you never actually _told_ me...”

“Yeah, plausible deniability, I get it. So, what do I-” Shawn rolled his eyes when he saw Carlton’s discomfort. “Okay, you made your point, you can stand up now.”

“Thank God.” He mumbled, pushing himself up. When he had a bit of trouble getting to his feet, Shawn stuck out a hand to help him. Carlton gratefully took it, but once he was upright, he refused to let go.

Shawn stared down at their joined hands. “You tricksy bastard…”

“I learned from the best.” Carlton replied, thumb rubbing gentle circles over Shawn’s bandaged fingertips. 

Chuckling quietly, Shawn had to give him points. It was definitely something he would have done. He sobered up quickly, though, remembering they were in the middle of a serious conversation. “What do I do now?” He asked. “I always told you I would never make you choose between me and the job, and I don't intend to start now. But this is... this is _big_."

Lassiter pursed his lips into a moue of contemplation. Though Vick and everyone else at the station would be none the wiser about Shawn, _he_ would still know. It was one thing to be oblivious, but it was another to be complicit in a lie. “You could take the private investigators exam,” he said after a beat of silence, “get a license and go legit. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof...”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt. Gus and my dad have been telling me I should do that for a while now. It just seemed like more fun to live dangerously, y’know, play the rebel... but if I got my license, then there wouldn’t be any reason for you to tell Vick or anyone else, right? Rebel or not, I _really_ don't want to end up in jail if Vick finds out."

Carlton smiled, giving Shawn’s hand a reassuring squeeze. "If you had your license, I see no reason why I would. Don't expect me to lie for you, but I don’t see why I couldn’t keep playing along, to keep up appearances. I know how important Psych is to you, just like you know how important the job is to me..."

Nodding his head, Shawn worried at his lower lip, eyes taking stock of Lassie. Finally, he came to a decision. "So... we’re okay? We chalk it up to a misunderstanding-” He got an overwhelming sensation of déjà vu, thinking back to their first night together. He couldn’t help but laugh, causing Carlton to look at him as though he were mental. Shawn shook his head, knowing it would only be amusing to him, coming almost full circle in their relationship. “Can we just go home now? Make with the talking and the makeup sex, followed by more talking? Y'know, pretend to be adults for once and _actually_ fix this?”

Huffing out a sigh of relief, Carlton vehemently nodded, wanting nothing more in this world than to go _their_ home, curl up in bed with Shawn and figure out what they were going to do moving forward. “God, _yes_.” He said, overeagerness painting his voice.

Moving his hand to lace their fingers together, Shawn reached down for the remote, turning the television off before tossing the remote back down on the couch.  Walking out of the living and through the kitchen to make their way outside, he opened the screen door to find his dad still on the porch. He wasn’t moving and in the low light, it was hard to tell if he was sleeping or not. 

Shawn pressed a finger to his lips, telling Carlton to keep quiet, in the hopes of making a clean getaway, but just before they hit the bottom step...

"Don’t let this happen again." Henry called out gruffly.

Cursing under his breath, Shawn turned to face his father. "Goodnight, dad." He said, waving a hand sarcastically.

Henry harrumphed, unimpressed. "Remember what I said, Carlton." 

Shawn looked at Carlton in confusion, but the terrified expression on his face told said that perhaps it was best if he didn’t ask.

With that, they continued down to the driveway, Lassiter walking Shawn to his bike. He pulled his helmet and leather jacket off the handlebar, before twisting around to lean against the seat. 

Carlton ran his hand up Shawn's arm, almost afraid to let him go, the thin thread of fear that he would up and vanish still coiled low in his stomach. "So, are we going to be okay?" He received his answer in the form of a kiss, feather light but no less reassuring. 

Shawn drifted back, gazing up into Carlton's eyes. "Yeah... I think we will be." He smiled as he put his helmet on, worming his arms into his jacket. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, Carlton stepped away, moving toward his car. Shawn watched him go, brow furrowing as he thought about something he’d said.

“Lassie…”

“Hmmm?”

“Did you _really_ know all this time that I wasn’t psychic?”

“If you really psychic, wouldn’t you already _know_ the answer to that question?” Carlton replied with a coy smirk.

Shawn barked out a laugh as he climbed onto his bike. _Yeah_ , he thought, _we’re gonna be just fine_.


End file.
